


Follower of the Wind

by Angelle_wings



Category: Tales of Berseria
Genre: F/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 11:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10852809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelle_wings/pseuds/Angelle_wings
Summary: The wind plays it’s music freely- there are those who march alongside it but there are those who are mere followers striving for the freedom it holds.





	Follower of the Wind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kisara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisara/gifts).



> My motivation gift for Kisara!
> 
> I had a ton of fun making this!! It was so fun exploring such a character. Theodora appealed to me ever since i first played berseria and IM SO HAPPY TO GET THIS CHANCE TO WRITE HER AND SHARE MY LOVE FOR HER.
> 
> enjoy!

 

There were times the leaves would fiercely rustle, the waves gently leaping over one another, the grass swaying and the chirps carried from miles away would create a song and the conductor was none other than the wind itself. The wind was a conductor of a free symphony- one who didn’t follow any notes. When day would come, it would raise its baton to all who wanted to listen as it played a new piece, there would be keen listeners and they were entranced by nature’s music and there were those who would bashed its piece. But no, the wind didn’t listen,  it didn’t bat an eye and continued coloring the world with its piece as it pleased. That was freedom.

 

And when the sun has set and the night has come, the wind teased the listeners as it played a secret tune. The music didn’t stop- the cicadas cried, the fires whispered tales to the listeners and the owls hummed to the tune.  It was a secret tune yet nonetheless expressive- and free. Each night had its own mystery and own hidden beauty.  That was freedom.

 

But sometimes the music wasn’t as sweet, sometimes anger overtook the wind and it would roar, and tugged on the leaves, scattered the rain over the land and allowed the thunder to clap to the beat. And sometimes the anger would fade into sorrow. The sorrow would overtake it’s heart and sometimes silence played with exception to the occasional wails reaching out for any form of comfort. That was yet another form of freedom.

 

As for I, I was lead by the music of the wind to the man who listened to the same tune. He was a man who loved the wind and whatever direction it went he would follow. And I, I was right behind him as he traveled this tiring world. I watched his expression from day to night and have come to love him more than ever with every passing moment. 

 

When I first met him it was clear to me he was a man one with the wind. He had a rather unusual personality always doing as he pleased, to the men he would mock them sometimes laughing as he asked for a fight. But in front of the ladies, he gave them the utmost respect and very apparent love- well, any dumb lady would have noticed he was a player, so it wasn’t like he succeeded much.  

 

He was a man who was truly alive. Free as the wind.

 

As the wind played secret tunes he also did as well. There were acts he has done but hadn’t spoken of. On darkest of nights I had first seen him help even the poorest of children and, on the hungriest of days, he had protected  the weak to ensure the strong wouldn’t chew their flesh. No matter whether it was day or night, he was not one to let  the defenseless  cower in the shadows. But he did it all in silence- he was an unsung hero, but a hero I had found and loved.

 

We started to travel with one another, he teased me occasionally and laughed but, when  worries overtook me, he listened with an open ear. Sometimes I couldn’t put my  troubles in words, sometimes I didn’t speak my mind completely, but he always listened, comforted me and waited for me patiently. And I even if I hadn’t told him personally, I promised to do the same to him. 

 

It was curious how a man with so many expressions can be rather weak. He was one with a strong heart yet fragile, he loved all people yet kept all to himself but in reality, he was but a weak man. And when you stood right by his side, the view was clear- he was alive and freer than anyone else. He never chose to word his emotions but rather bottle them inside him. But I came to notice his gaze, his sadness, the anger that overtook him and learned how his outer appearance only deceived everyone. And waited until he spoke to me. And he did, he always did when I was by his side. 

 

But I left him with barely a proper goodbye. And when I left him, I had come to learn he no longer was a bird gliding with the wind, rather a bird with its wings nailed down to earth: to his emotions and to his past.

 

The pleasant banter in his journey was replaced with silence. He chased after the wind with not a person by his side. And the strict atmosphere put me in an edge and despite walking behind him he didn’t see me. But that didn’t stop me.

 

I sometimes walked behind him, sometimes beside him and sometimes I picked my pace and rushed ahead of him. And when he was too slow, I found myself calling his name asking him to hurry up, but instead, he didn’t respond… And I would forget the reality of the situation.  By his side I get carried away, forgetting how reality truly was: he never knew I was near him in the first place for I was no longer a part of this world.

 

He still joked, he still hit on the ladies, he still held the kindness hidden from the world’s eyes, but everything was different. With every action, I noticed was as if there was a doubt lingering on the smile he wore. And though he didn’t cry or even explain to me why. I didn’t need him to tell me. I knew it.

 

And when he held a peaceful smile in his sleep I wondered, what possibly was he seeing in that dream? And sometimes my question was answered as he murmured in his sleep, “Theodora.”

 

My heart would stop and I would stare dumbfounded at my name. I was quick to dismiss it as a dream, but he didn’t give me a chance to recover as his soft expression changed and it was followed by, “Don’t leave me.” 

 

His eyes, his expressions, and his smile. They spoke volumes- the told me that the strength inside him shattered, that he bottled his weakness and wasn’t able to speak his mind. And that the memories of the past have swallowed him alive and though his body was alive, his heart have died long ago. And even if I whispered sorry countless times, he didn’t hear. It shattered me.

 

And when he woke up- he fought back the tears and would murmur my name promising to save me, and even if I embraced him, begged him to stop, asked him to cry, told him I was fine. He didn’t hear.

 

Although the wind played its tune and he followed the music he was no longer a man one with the wind. But he strived to be with the wind but now he is nothing more than a mere follower of its music yearning for the freedom it holds as he is held down to earth by his emotions and memories all because of me. 


End file.
